Everything's Gonna Be Alright I Know
by cartersdaughter
Summary: This story was written for Winchesterwrites Christmas challenge. My prompts were SamxReader, Christmas Lights, and the Christmas song "If We Make It Through December". Reader and Sam have been dating for a while, when the brother's discover the reader hasn't had a traditional Christmas in quite a while. So they decide to give her the full Christmas experience.


Written for: Winchesterwrites Christmas challenge.

Length: 5,300 words

Title: Everything's Gonna Be Alright I Know.

AN: Don't usually write reader insert stories but that seems to the content of a lot of these challenges. Got a little more angsty than I had planned but hope you still enjoy.

"What do you mean you've never had Christmas?"

"Jeez Dean. You're acting like she committed some crime. It's just Christmas. I mean we've never had an official Christmas before either. I mean we exchanged presents then there was that thing before…"

Sam trailed off and you know he was remembering the time before Dean went to hell. Dean had joked over and over about how Sam was the "boy who hated Christmas". Finally, you had gotten so sick of Dean's jibes toward Sam that you had pulled him aside to ask what the big deal was. She remembered the conversation vividly.

"Sam, why does Dean call you the "Boy who hates Christmas"? I mean I know there has to be a story behind that." You smiled as you snuggled close to Sam, sliding more under his arm and leaning your head against his shoulder.

Sam pulled away slightly, but left his arm where it was. Even though he shifted only a bit, you could feel the tension coiling his body like a spring. You could tell he wanted to move, and not just move but sprint away from you and hide. Instead you could feel him force himself to relax and take a deep breath which turned into a sigh.

You started to tell him it was all right. He didn't have to share any information he didn't want to, but after another deep breath, he began to speak. So you closed your mouth and settled in to listen.

"You already know our mom died when I was just a baby," he started. You nod into his shoulder for him to continue. "Well, after she died, my dad got into hunting. And a lot of the time he was stuck on hunts over Christmas. Because, well you know, holidays and large groups of people tend to be like a monster smorgasbord. So Dean and I spent quite a few Christmases alone, giving each other gifts and stuff like that, but not really being able to decorate because we were in a motel room. I guess since I never had a traditional Christmas, even though Dean tried the best he could, I was always envious of what other kids had. I wanted a real Christmas. I wanted to be able to go to school and show off my Christmas presents. But I never did. Then before Dean went to hell, I threw him a Christmas party. It was a shitty effort to repay him for all the times he tried to make Christmas the best for me."

You could hear the sadness permeating his voice, so you tilted your head up to kiss Sam lightly on the neck.

"What about you? How did your family celebrate Christmas?"

You clammed up instantly. Now it was your turn to pull away. This was not where you had planned this conversation going at all. You shifted on the bed calculating how long it would take you to get to the door so Sam couldn't continue this conversation. "I don't want to talk about it," you said getting off the bed.

"I'm sorry," Sam said. You could hear the bed moving behind you. "What did I say? Tell me what is wrong so I can make it better." You resisted the urge to slam the door as you exited, ignoring Sam's apologies and protestations.

"I don't want to talk Sam. Just leave me alone." You hold back the urge to rush down the hall to the room the brothers had designated as yours.

You could hear Sam's boots following you down the hallway, and you pushed down the anger bubbling up at the sound. You knew he was just trying to be helpful. "Come on. Please talk to me. Tell me what I said that upset you."

Reaching your room you slipped in and didn't quite slam the door, but you closed it hard enough for Sam to get the message. _Leave me alone._

Even though you no longer heard his pleas from outside the door, you knew Sam. You pictured him sitting on the other side of the door, waiting for you to calm down, waiting for you to open up both the door and your heart.

But you couldn't. Between Dean's earlier outburst and Sam's innocent questioning, a multitude of memories you'd rather not deal with and had promised yourself you never would came rising up like lava from a dormant volcano that had suddenly become active again.

The force with which the memories assaulted you, nearly made you throw up. As much as you wanted to open the door to inform Sam your quick disappearing act had nothing to do with him that was just another checkbox on the list of things you couldn't do. Once both the literal and figurative doors were opened, Sam would be hit with a flood of unpleasantness so horrid he would probably ask you to leave.

You needed Sam's support, but the thought of rejection terrified you. As crazy as the Winchester's lives were they were a supernatural kind of crazy. Not regular people crazy. You didn't know how to break the news to Sam that as horrible as his Christmases had been they didn't hold a candle to what your Christmases as a child had been.

You knew Sam hated the fact he had never had what the Winchesters termed a "real Christmas". One with lights and mistletoe, Christmas trees and cookies, parties and ornaments. But it was like the old saying went about love, "Was it better to have loved and lost or never loved at all?" Sam Winchester had never had a true, traditional Christmas, so he didn't know what he was missing. He had felt the sting of being jilted by his classmates for not having the newest, coolest present and saw the magic of Christmas around him but had never experienced it for himself. You on the other hand, hadn't been entirely truthful with Dean during your earlier conversation. He'd said you'd never had Christmas. What you'd said was you didn't think Christmas was anything other than another day of the year. You'd meant was it had been a long time since you'd thought of Christmas as anything else. But the brother's had interpreted it as you never having a Christmas, and that was fine with you. You didn't bother to correct them because you wanted to save yourself the explanation. To save yourself the You remembered time when Christmas had been your favorite holiday. The one day of the year you anticipated from the moment stores began stocking shelves.

Your mom had always said Christmas was a magical time of year and nothing bad ever happened on Christmas. She couldn't have been more wrong. The worst thing you could imagine had happened on Christmas. That's when you had lost her. And it wasn't something you could ever be prepared for. You couldn't plan for a drunk driver to come careening out of a bar parking lot and smashing into the car head on as the two of you were leaving midnight mass. That's when everything had changed. From that Christmas on, there had been the barest of gifts: things like socks and underwear, t-shirts and gift cards. There had been no more celebration. Gone were the twinkling lights and candy filled stockings. Your dad refused to buy any sort of Christmas tree, even an artificial one. He wouldn't even go near the tree lot in the years that followed.

So in a way you felt the Winchesters, especially Sam, were incredibility lucky. They've never had a Christmas with all the trimmings, so they didn't know how wonderful it could be.

You opened the door close to midnight figuring the coast would be clear to get some food. You had been in your room all night alternating between wanting to open the door and wanting to keep all of your secrets to yourself, between crying and trying hold your emotions in. You didn't want Sam to see you all red-faced and blotchy. You figured the guys were either in bed or out on a hunt. No way were they still wandering the bunker at this time of night. You opened the door just enough to squeeze through. You tried, then realized both you and the book you were bringing to read in the kitchen while your food cooked wouldn't both fit through, so you opened the door a bit wider. Once the door was open, you moved to go through only to find yourself blocked. The space you had created was filled. Filled with a tumble of brown hair. Sam's broad head and shoulders filled the doorway. The younger Winchester was asleep against your door and opening the door had caused him to fall sideways against the frame. You resisted the urge to brush the hair out of his eyes. Instead you smiled at his thoughtfulness, but made your way around his sleeping form. The last thing you needed right now was confrontation, especially when you resembled the things you hunted.

You made your way stealthily to the kitchen tiptoeing so as not to tip off Dean either. You were so hungry, but you didn't want to make too much noise and be found out. Sam was so sweet and loving. But sharing such a deep part of your past with him was farther than you wanted to go. Again you smiled to yourself as you thought of him falling asleep against your door. What could possibly be sweeter than the man you loved staying with you despite you slamming a door in his face?

How could you ever tell him the truth? Especially after all that? You warred with yourself as you made a sandwich. Just enough to hold you over until breakfast. That is if you could even chance facing the brothers then, especially Sam, sweet Sam who made nothing but sacrifices for you and your relationship. Grabbing the plate holding your sandwich, you headed back to your room expecting to see Sam's snoozing form still slumped in front of your door. But he was no longer there.

 _Good_ , you thought setting your plate on the desk. You hoped the brothers were either sleeping or were out on a hunt. If they were out of the bunker that would leave plenty of time for you to gather your thoughts and pull yourself together. No way were you letting them see what a mess you'd become, over something as stupid as Christmas.

You went to the closet to get an extra blanket. You startled when you heard a soft snore coming from the direction of your bed. Sam had relocated himself not to his room as you had hoped but to yours.

There he was asleep on top of the covers, snoring softly. You didn't have the heart to force him to move elsewhere. So instead you propped the blanket over your shoulder, picked up your book and sandwich, and crept out to the living area. You figured it would be better to sleep in full view of the guys, in case they freaked out and thought you pulled a disappearing act.

So you spread your blanket out across the couch and wrapped it around yourself. If you were lucky, Sam would eventually wake up and and go back to his room like nothing all had happened.

You fell into a restless sleep because of the uncomfortable couch. Your thoughts of the brothers and their potential rejection swirling around, a tornado in your mind.

And luck was not to be on your side. You awoke the to feeling of someone watching you. Peeling your eyes open, you received a face full of concerned Winchester. Sam was leaning over you, his long hair falling into his eyes. While Dean stood a few inches behind him, giving you space, but his green eyes were still clouded with worry.

Seeing you awake, they began to apologize profusely. Words tumbling over each other so quickly you were unable decipher few words other than sorry. Sam blushed deeply as though embarrassed for waking you before disappearing in the direction of the kitchen, which left Dean awkwardly staring at you.

"Sleep well?" he asked.

You huffed holding back some rather undignified words that had come to mind.

"I take that as a no. What were you doing out here anyway?"

"Sam was sleeping in my bed."

"Sam, in your bed? Bow-Chicka-Wow-Wow."

"Dean," you said exasperated. He could be such a child sometimes.

"Just saying." He smiled, then his face went straight. "Ok seriously, what's going on with you two? Is this about last night? Because if it is I'm the one you should be mad at not him. He told me to stop pushing, and l just kept going. Just forgive him. I mean whatever you are blaming him for is probably my fault anyway. So give the guy a break."

"This is about way more than just last night. Leave it alone Dean. I don't want to talk about it."

"At least talk to Sammy. Whatever happened between the two of you, cut the guy some slack. He probably didn't mean whatever it was he said that set you off."

"Dean I said drop it!" you yelled before sprinting back to your room, where you began throwing on the closest clothes you could find into the nearest duffle bag. You needed to get out of here, to take a break from the barrage of memories.

You rushed away, duffle bag slung over your shoulder. You headed for the doors wanting to rush up the giant metal staircase as quickly as possible.

However, you rounded the corner and ran smack Sam's chiseled, muscular chest. The air rushed out of you with a hiss, and you had to grab the railing to steady yourself.

Sam on the other hand stood firm, a giant immovable mountain blocking your path.

You took a deep breath to gather yourself and attempted to proceed around him to get to the stairs. This wasn't even about what you wanted anymore. You needed this. You needed to get out and away from the tension. You didn't want to talk about any of this now, but Sam as sweet as he was would continue to push and push until you exploded. And you really cared for him, the last thing you wanted to do was hurt him. You knew if you stayed in the bunker any longer you would say something you would regret and that would crush him.

"Sam! Move!" You shoved at his chest, but there he stood a wall between you and freedom.

"No," he replied his voice unwavering, his calm demeanor the exact opposite of your rising emotion.

"Sam!" You shoved again. This time catching him a bit off guard. He stumbled backward leaving you just enough space to squeeze between him and railing. You slid through the gap and bolted up the stairs. Trying to ignore, Sam's cries of "No wait! Stop! Come back" that floated along behind you.

You rushed outside to where the three of you had hidden your car. You weren't comfortable parking it in the bunker's garage, despite the fact Dean insisted you were running the paint with the fluffy, white stuff. But you came from places that had way more snow than Kansas would ever see. Dean didn't know that, you shared very little of your past with the Winchesters. Though you and Sam had been dating for months, you still kept your past very close to the vest. Because you wouldn't share much with the Winchesters, you felt like you were invading their space by taking up a room and eating their food. You weren't going to take up any more of their space than necessary. Which was why your car was currently parked outside.

You shivered as the biting wind came around the corner of bunker, bringing with fluffy white flakes that landed in your hair and on your car. You sang to yourself as you brushed the snow from your car, "Santa Claus and popcorn. Jingle bells and reindeer horns. Christmas trees and mistletoe. Jesus loves me this I know."

Shivering once more, you shook the snow from your hair and vowed to talk the Winchesters into taking some hunts further south or west. Definitely somewhere warmer come summertime. Somewhere like Arizona or California.

Times like this you wondered if you shouldn't share more with Sam and Dean or at least take them up on their offer of garage space.

You were so absorbed in your task and your thoughts you didn't hear the crunch of boots in the gravel and hard packed snow. You hadn't realized that someone had followed you, that someone being Sam, until his large mittened hand encased your own, pausing its motion.

"What's going on with you, sweetheart?" He leaned down to meet your eyes.

"I don't want to talk about it," you said pulling your hand from his.

"I'm not giving you a choice."

"How are you going to stop me?" you shot back. You couldn't believe Sam was making an already bad situation worse. Why couldn't he just leave you alone?

You turned at the sound of a jingling noise behind you. Sam had snaked the car keys out of your pocket while you'd been distracted. "Give those back."

"Not until you tell me what's going on. Or at least give me some sort of clue about what I did wrong. First, you stormed off. Then you spent the night on the couch. Now, you're ready to jump in the car and go God knows where."

"He's probably the only person that does," you mumbled.

"What?" Sam asked.

You ignored him instead reaching for your keys.

"Not until you tell me what's going on."

"I already told you I don't want to talk about it."

"And I told you I don't care. Keys for conversation."

"Fine," you said holding your hand out. "I hate Christmas. There are you satisfied."

"Not even close. What the hell? You can't just drop a bomb like that and think I'm going to let you walk away." Using your keys, he unlocked the car door and gestured inside. He dropped himself into the driver's seat forcing you to take the spot next to him in the passenger's seat. "Talk."

You attempted to stare him down but found yourself getting lost in those deep eyes of his and wanting to spill all your secrets. "What's to say, Sam? I hate Christmas. Used to love it: the lights, the music, the decorations. But after my mom died, Christmas became a crock of crap. My dad basically shut down Christmas. Then I ended up in foster care which meant Christmas was often skipped or took place in a different house every year if it took place at all." Once you started, you couldn't stop. Secrets upon secrets you'd kept bottled up and hidden from the brothers poured out.

You finished, exhausted. "And that's why I need to get out of here Sam. I need a break. I can't be around Dean right now. I finally answered your questions. But that's all I want to do right now. I need to be by myself."

Sam nodded. He leaned across the seats to give you a hug and small kiss before getting out of the car and readjusting the seat to your proper height. "See you when you get back," he said closing the door.

After taking a few hours to yourself, you made your way back to the bunker expecting to see the brothers watching Netflix in the living room or doing research in the library or war room. Instead you came down the metal staircase into the war room only to see a gigantic Douglas Fir tree in the middle of the room ornaments scattered hither-thither on the branches. The brothers came out from behind the tree. Dean was draped in tinsel of all colors: gold, red, green, and silver while Sam was tangled in multi-colored Christmas lights in the variety of sizes.

You couldn't decide between shock, amazement, anger, and confusion. "What's going on here?" you managed to stutter out.

Both Winchesters stared at you like deer in the headlights or little kids with their hands caught in the cookie jar. "We were...we were…" Both of them seemed as though they were having trouble coming up with an excuse.

"Well," you said putting your hands on your hips in a reprimanding manner.

"Merry Christmas?" Dean said hesitantly.

You mouth dropped open. They had done all of this for you. "What on earth…? How did you…?" You were completely at a loss for words.

"It's not done yet," Sam put in quickly.

"Well, it would have been done if someone hadn't gotten the lights tangled," Dean shot back.

"I wouldn't be tangled in the lights if you hadn't been playing around with the ornaments. Everyone knows the ornaments go on the tree last."

"He's right Dean," you agreed. "But how did this happen?" you asked gesturing to the mish-mash and Christmas decoration covered Winchesters.

"I wanted to put the ornaments on first, so I did that," Dean said with a smirk.

"But I was trying to explain to him that lights and garland go on first," Sam said. " I guess I got distracted by Dean making a mess of things as usual. And instead of unwrapping the lights...this happened." Sam used his free hand to gesture to himself. "I just wanted everything to be perfect for you. I wanted you to remember what Christmas is all about."

"We wanted to bring Christmas back to life," Dean said.

"I'm pretty sure you succeeded," you said navigating the stacks of boxes and decorations to reach Sam. You met Dean's eyes in a silent thank you over Sam's shoulder. Dean responded with a smile and pointed toward the ceiling.

Mistletoe.

Grinning at the older Winchester, you pulled Sam toward you Christmas lights and all and kissed him.

The three of you finished decorating the tree together. Dean protesting the entire time that you and Sam were decorating the tree wrong. And he should know he'd been the one to most recently decorate a tree.

You and Sam ignored him continuing to hang lights, garland, and ornaments on tree. After everything was put together, Dean refusing to help once you'd dismantled his "masterpiece" preferring to hide in the kitchen and use the other Christmas supplies the brothers had gotten to make dinner.

That gave Sam a chance to explain what had gone on while you'd been out for a drive.

"Dean, I know the real reason she doesn't want to have Christmas."

"What? I thought she said she'd never had a Christmas."

"No that's what I've been trying to tell you. It's not that she's never had one it's that she's had one, but she doesn't want to get hurt again."

"What do you mean get hurt again?"

"Christmas used to be a big deal to her and her family. Like not just big, huge. Christmas tree, lights, mistletoe, candy, stockings, the whole nine. But after her mom died, Christmas just kind of stopped. Like nothing, not one single inkling of Christmas. That was while she was still with her family. A few Christmases after her mom. Her dad decided he didn't need a reminder of what had happened. So she and her siblings were sent to live in foster care. Moving from home to home meant a minimal number of possessions and often meant limited gifts or none at all. Even if she got gifts, it often just meant something else she would have to leave behind before moving to a new place. She had the life we've always managed to avoid. Imagine what our life would have been like if Dad had been a little less caring. I mean we didn't have traditional Christmases, Dean, but at least we had each other. She didn't have anyone. Her siblings don't talk to her anymore, and I don't even want to think about her dad. She has no one. No one who is willing to try for her. We have to try Dean. We have to do this. She has to know what Christmas is again."

"What do you mean what Christmas is?"

"I mean Christmas has been crap for her recently. I want to show her what Christmas spirit really is. Back to light and hope and family and what Christmas is all about."

As Sam continued to tell you his side of things, you were almost tearing up at his explanation. Which is why you laughed when he continued with Dean's response.

"Yeah! Sammy, let's do it. Where do we start?"

"I guess we start with what we need," Sam said. "What do we need?"

"Really, Sam?"

"There's just so much Dean."

"We got this. We need tinsel, lights, presents, ornaments, music, food. And mistletoe. We definitely need mistletoe. No Christmas is complete without mistletoe."

You knew Sam was leaving a bit of the story out. He had most likely turned a rather nice shade of pinkish-red when his brother had mentioned then emphasized the mistletoe. When you asked, he admitted he had blushed and shoved Dean away. The younger Winchester continued taking you through the course of events.

"We don't know how much time we have before she gets back Dean. We don't know if we have enough time to find all that stuff. Not to mention getting the decorating done. So let's start with inventorying the bunker to see what our Christmas situation is before we head out to the store," Sam reasoned.

"Are you kidding me Sam? You're going to give your girlfriend moldy, old decorations from the 1950s? I thought you were better than that. Anyway, the last thing I need is to get blamed for you electrocuting yourself."

Sam again tried to be the voice of reason. "First of all, I wouldn't electrocute myself. Secondly, there's no way she would blame you."

"Oh yes she would," Dean countered. " And if she didn't, I'd probably blame myself. Nope. No can do Sammy. I'm not having you get sick or hurt because of those ancient, outdated decorations. If we're doing this, we're doing it right."

Sam stared open-mouthed at his brother.

"Shut your mouth and let's get going little brother. You've already pointed out twice we don't know how much time we have. Let's get our shop on." Dean shook his head. "Never thought I'd say that."

The two brothers left a note for you in the bunker saying they went on a supply run, which turned out to be unneeded. While you had been driving in circles trying to compose yourself, they had cleaned out the Christmas aisles at the local Wal-Mart. The Impala's trunk and backseat were filled to bursting. They'd even went to a tree farm to pick out the nicest tree they could find. Of course there had been a tarp between the tree and the car. No matter how much Sam loved you and wanted everything to be perfect for you. Dean wasn't taking any chances on possible damage to his Baby.

They came back and the chaos had begun. They hadn't known how long you be out. And calling or texting you risked the chance of you coming back before they had finished their surprise. Which you had. The rush coupled with the argument on how to properly decorate the tree was how both brothers had ended up covered in more decorations than the tree.

Sam finished his story, just as the two of you heard Dean yell from the kitchen that dinner was done. You kissed Sam once more before following Dean's bellowing to the food.

During the course of dinner, you noticed something you'd missed before when you'd been distracted by the decorations. Both Winchesters had on ugly Christmas sweaters, the kind you knew came in a kit from the store. You jaw once again fell open right after you almost choked on your food trying to hold in a laugh.

"What on earth…?" You pointed unable to even form the words.

Dean looked down at his torso. "Oh this. I told Sammy if we were going all out. That meant all out. Saw these on a rack and couldn't help myself."

"Don't worry," Sam said. "We got you one too."

"Oh no, you didn't," you protested.

Dean pulled a large box from under the table. "We did." Inside was the ugliest sweater you'd ever seen. It had a large furry, Christmas tree covered in ornaments and bulbs. In the center of the tree was a sticker that said "push me." You were scared and intrigued at the same time. You pushed in the sticker and instantly the lights on the tree began to flicker.

"Oh no." You peeked out from behind your hands at the monstrosity hoping it had disappeared when you'd covered your eyes. Nope still there.

"Put it on," Dean said smiling.

"No way," you said.

"Come on, we picked it out special just for you," Dean said.

"Please," Sam said turning the patented puppy dog eyes on you.

You could never resist those. So you pulled the sweater out of the box and slipped it over your head lights still flashing.

Dean chuckled. "Merry Christmas to me," he said pulling out his phone and snapping a picture across the table of you and Sam in ugly Christmas sweaters.

"DEAN!" the two of you protested.

"Priceless. Now I have blackmail for years to come. Good night all," he said leaving the kitchen.

"We need that picture," you said.

"No we don't," Sam said. "Who's he going to send it to? Cass? He has no social media accounts, so I think we're safe."

"For now," you said grabbing Sam's hand and leading him back towards the tree.

The two of you sat together in one of the overstuffed armchairs with cups of homemade hot chocolate, another Dean Winchester culinary special, and watched the lights on the Christmas tree change color, blinking on and off on a set timer. You could easily see which lights Sam had chosen and which ones Dean had. Dean's Christmas lights and ornaments were large and flashy while the ones Sam had chosen were small, tasteful, and subdued.

Sam tugged at your hair to get your attention, and you realized you had been dozing on his shoulder. "Hey, I've got one more surprise for you."

"Sam you turned the bunker into a Winter Wonderland." It was true. There were trails and trails of fake snow everywhere. That didn't include the silver tinsel and garland strands you'd probably be pulling out of your hair for days. "What else could you possibly have left to show me?"

Sam reached toward the tree in between the branches, and you saw black box and a flash of silver. You prayed to whatever Powers that Be it was not a ring. That was one surprise you weren't quite ready for and didn't know how to handle the situation that would follow.

As Sam took the lid off the box, you breathed a silent sigh of relief. Inside on a bed of white cotton lay a silver snowflake ornament. Engraved on the front was an etching of the Impala and on the back it read. "First official bunker Christmas."

"Sam it's beautiful," you breathed.

"So you like it then," he asked.

" I love it," you said giving him a kiss. There was another piece of mistletoe hanging over the chair were you were seated, though you would have kissed Sam anyway. The two of you were going to be finding that stuff for months, no telling all the places Dean had stashed it throughout the bunker. Knowing him there was probably some even hanging from the Impala's rearview mirror. "Merry Christmas Sam."

"Merry Christmas," he replied. The two of you snuggled together in the chair watching the twinkling lights and the shimmer of your new Christmas ornament until you fell asleep.


End file.
